


faking it for real

by guardianoffun



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Homophobic Language, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Slash, fake blow jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 07:02:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21095363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun
Summary: Jakes has thirty seconds to come up with a reason for the two of them to be sitting in a parked car this late at night, it's not his fault his mind can only come up with one idea. Fake-oral bring a lot more realisation than he thought.





	faking it for real

**Author's Note:**

> do i keep writing car sex? yes. is this slightly different because no dick is actually sucked? maybe. no apologies i thought this was hilarious.

“Ah shit,” Jakes mutters, throwing down the book he’d been holding in his lap. Morse’s eyes flick over to him in the low light. They were sat in a car, unmarked and nondescript, a little ways down the road from a house they were pretty sure was the next target of a group of thieves currently terrorising Oxford. Being a fairly domestic road, it had been hard to avoid looking suspicious, so they were tucked down a small off-shoot, trying their best not to move. If the car looked empty, all the better.

“Hmm?” Morse manages to ask, with no words. He had been sitting still as a statue, mulling something over in that big brain of his, and hadn’t noticed the figure some distance from the car making his slow way towards them. It had been Jakes, who despite dipping into his reading material, had felt eyes on the car. They had maybe a minute before the man they were sure was one Chaz Stevens, was tapping on the window. 

Jakes head turns to Morse slowly, betraying the growing panic. “We’ve been rumbled,” he says, and Morse sits up a little straighter. Both of them are frantically quiet for a second, looking for any sort of inspiration. Jakes eyes fall on the cover of his discarded book, a well thumbed copy of  _ The Spy Who Loved Me  _ and a few fantastical daring escapes come to mind before something a little more understated strikes him. He glances over at Morse, and hopes this idea doesn’t get him slapped; it isn’t like Morse is offering anything better. 

“Morse, I have an idea-” he hisses, because they have a little more than than thirty seconds before Stevens is peering through the window. 

“If it’s going to work-” Jakes takes that as a  _ yes  _ and so reaches a hand over and grabs Mores by the neck. Perhaps a little rougher than necessary, but time is of the essence. He yanks Morse down, so his head is a little closer to Jakes lap than it has ever had cause to be, and thank God Morse is smart because he catches on pretty quick. His hands go to Jakes’ thighs whilst Jakes curls his hand into Morse’s hair. Jakes is so distracted by the sensation of Morse’s thumbs on his inseam that he forgets for a moment what’s happening, and finds himself gasping out. 

“Christ, Morse!” at least it sounds situation-appropriate. Morse has that audacity to chuckle, then bob his head and it’s highly concerning how good the bastard is at faking oral. The sharp tap of knuckles on the car window snaps Jakes from his stunned state, and his head snaps up. He cranks the window open. 

“What?” he snaps, horrified at how breathy he sounds. Stevens sneers at them. “What you doin’ sitting out here then mate?” Morse chooses that moment to let out a muffled groan, and Jakes can feel his breath hot on his legs. Stevens eyes dip down just as Jakes let out a strained groan. 

“What’cha think, prick?” he asks, and that has Stevens backing away already, a grimace on his face. Only a few steps mind, so Jakes throws his head back and makes some appreciative noises, loud enough to cover the sound of Morse who is now flat-out laughing silently in his lap. 

“Still there?” Morse murmurs, and Jakes nods. 

“Oh God, yes,” he whines, cheeks flaming red by now. Morse nods, a dangerous choice considering his position. Jakes isn’t into blokes or anything, but a head in your lap is a head in your lap, and the sensation will do things to a man. Then Morse makes everything so much worse, by tilting his head to look up at him, with those big blue eyes, and his lips red from where he’s been biting down on them and there’s such on onslaught of some sort of emotion that Jakes doesn’t have time to unpack right now. He just nods weakly, as Morse whispers.

“Now look as though you just came across my face.” The words cause some sort of short-circuit in Jakes’ brain, frying any thoughts he had been about to vocalise, and making him let out a strangled cry instead. 

“Morse!” 

“Perfect,” Morse grins, before leaning up planting a rough kiss on Jake’s chin. Jakes’ mind is elsewhere, as he stares blankly out of the car, watching as Stevens turns away and begins marching off down the street again. Morse is pawing at his chest, somehow having slid across the seat and stretched himself over Jakes lap in the time his brain has been rewiring itself. 

With Morse on his lap, still halfheartedly humping his thigh, Jakes catches sight of another car pulling up outside the house they were watching. 

“He still there?” Morse asks, leaning up against his chest, running a hand through the back of Jakes’ hair lazily. Jakes swallows loudly. 

“Uh… yeah,” he says, not sure where the lie has come from, seeing as Stevens was now back at the house, deep in conversation with his associates and clearly no longer watching them. Morse sighs then leans in closer, his head now buried in Jakes’ neck. He’s  _ not  _ kissing him, nor is he scraping his teeth along Jakes’ skin or sucking at the point where his skin dips beneath his collar and leaving a brilliant bruise, but Jakes can’t help thinking he  _ should  _ be. 

“This should scare him off then,” Morse mutters, before grabbing Jakes’ face and dragging him into a kiss. Jakes jumps, ever so slightly, before melting into it, because as bizarre as it all is, as much as this isn’t him, and this shouldn’t be happening; Morse is a great kisser. He’s long and slow, teasing without being mean. He tastes like mint and coffee, and the touch of his fingers on Jakes’ cheeks feels feather soft. 

It’s over before Jakes can decide how he feels about it, and Morse is peering back over his shoulder. 

“He’s gone Jakes,” he says before chambering back to his own seat. Jakes looks down at the space he had been occupying, at the creases in his trousers and the belt that Morse apparently undid when he wasn’t paying attention. Way to go for authenticity, he supposes. Morse is straightening his tie, but makes little effort to flatten the rather impressive kinks Jakes hands have wrung into his hair. When he turns, there’s a sly grin on his face and the streetlight catches on those teeth. Jakes is struck by the thought that he knows what they feel like now, pulling on his lip and he’s not sure he can ever look at Morse’s smile the same way. Good thing the man’s a miserable sod most of the time. 

The sound of Jakes buckling his belt again is deafening loud, and he can feel Morse’s eyes on him which doesn’t help the uncomfortable tightness in his pants. He distracts himself by staring dead ahead, watching the men crack open the front door of the house they’re raiding instead. 

“We should go and-“ he starts, going for the door, but realising his slight problem as he goes to swing his legs around. Morse cocks his head, eyes all big and innocent. 

“You go ahead,” he mutters, Morse no longer hiding his amusement and chuckling to himself as Jakes grabs the lukewarm thermos of tea and downs the lot, picturing the blandest, most unerotic things he can imagine as he does so. Morse pops the car door and begins his subtle stroll up the road. Jakes tries not to think about the way his legs move and how they felt on top of his, or those hands he has shoved in his pockets, how they felt on his chest. Jakes groans, that’s not helping. 

He distracts himself by leaning over to the glove compartment, grabbing the service pistol he signed out. These were nasty men they were dealing with. With one hand he radios Strange with an update, gets the go ahead to send Morse in and follow after. Cool metal on his hands proves distraction enough as he slips the gun into his holster, and by the time he ducks out of the car, in the very least his dick is behaving itself. His brain not so much, but that is a problem for later.

He follows Morse up to the house, at a distance that wouldn’t look too suspicious, but realises he can’t see Morse, which isn’t quite right. There should be a telltale head of hair over the fence, or careful measured footsteps. Morse should know better than to march in alone, before Jakes has got backup on the way. 

Then there’s the sudden sound of shoes scuffing and fists flying from inside the house, then the crack of gunfire, and Jakes’ heart leaps to his throat. Gripping the pistol, he shoulders the door, a cry of “Police!” on his lips. 

Morse is alright, in the end. The shot had indeed been aimed for him, but it missed him by an inch; it seemed Chaz Stevens was a bad shot when faced with a man he had just seen sucking someone’s dick, especially when he loudly proclaimed that his boyfriend was just outside, and armed, and also the police. In the confusion of it all, Morse had managed to disarm Stevens, and incapacitate on of his associates before getting a fist to the head and going sprawling. Jakes stormed in just as Morse was clambering to his feet, and had the man in front of him in cuffs before anyone could reach for the dropped gun. The whole thing was probably a little more dramatic than it needed to be, but at the very least it killed any lingering arousal Jakes had flat. 

“Not sure how we write this one up,” Jakes says, as he lights up a smoke outside. PC’s are carting the group of men off, Morse pressing a cold towel to his purpling jaw and Strange listening to the rantings of Chaz Stevens. Morse snorts, as Steven’s voice echoes around them. 

“Couple of poofs you got working for you!” he was yelling, and Strange, to his credit, just shook his head and pushed him into the back of the car. Jakes felt himself turn bright red, and Morse started smiling to himself again. 

They’re sent straight home, Morse catching a ride with Strange and saving Jakes the stress of sitting alone in a car with Morse again for tonight at least. He manages to get himself home in one piece, radio loud enough to distract himself. It’s when he’s standing in the shower twenty minutes later he has trouble, as he runs his hands over his chest, and remember Morse’s touch, or scrubs at his face and remembers Morse’s lips on his. 

Five minutes later and he’s jerking it to the thought of Morse’s swollen lips on his dick, cheeks red and breathing heavy. He staggers back to bed feeling mighty confused and still a little bit tense. The warm night doesn’t help, his sheets feeling too tight and constricting and he spends hours tossing and turning until finally it’s six am and he’s sitting in his underwear at the kitchen island, chain smoking over a slice of toast. The thought of Morse’s hands on him hasn’t left him since they parted ways. 

At the station he sits at his desk, chewing a strip of gum with such gusto his jaw aches. He can’t look Morse in the eye, but he looks at just about every other part of him. How had he never noticed the way Morse jabbed at his typewriter, long spindly fingers like darts, or the way he bent his head into Thursday’s office, how his arse was directly within Jakes line of sight. It was when Morse stood up to get a drink, when he walked directly into a long stretch of sunlight, and had to squint his eyes, and his hair caught all golden and lovely and  _ oh shit  _ Jakes  _ fancied  _ him. 

That would explain the sudden breathlessness he had at the sight of Morse whisking past his desk. It would explain a lot of things actually, like the fact he’s getting to his feet and following Morse out of the office, and why he’s reaching out for his arm and spinning him so he can snarl in his face.

“You want to get a drink after work?” 

Morse laughs. “Only if you’re driving.”

**Author's Note:**

> was it as funny as i thought it was lol


End file.
